Days of Dark
by SSocrates
Summary: The Light's celebrations were premature. A war they thought won was raging once more and a potions professor seized the opportunity to take what he always wanted. Dark content ahead, ye have been warned.
1. Turning off the Light

**Hello.**

**This is a first, fearful attempt at writing fiction. I always preferred unsavoury Snape, and so thats where I'm going. This is probably more of an exsercise in me indulging than anything else. Thanks to DraconisMalfoy14 for being my beta and pointing out a glaringly obvious omission.**

**I own nothing.**

**Have fun and be gentle.**

**P.s please forgive the hastily thought up title.**

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She turned from the basin which, oddly, was placed on the opposite wall to the mirror, and regarded her reflection. She was surprised at how intact her appearance was, given the ordeal she had endured. Her physical and mental being had been ravaged and pillaged enough that she had felt her insides congealing into ragged remnants, and had expected her face to follow suit.

It couldn't have been more than half day previous that she had applied her magically waterproof make up and hair styling products. They worked well enough for a few hours, but failed to ensure perfection for any length of time. Most witches as a matter of routine used muggle products to avoid the general faff of bewitched products, but on special occasions such as tonight, Hermione would opt for the magical equivalent. This way her much toiled at masterpiece was kept looking fresh for as long as possible, which explained her not yet ghastly appearance.

Her eyes had not changed, they had kept the lightly bronzed shadow and thin line of black that flicked out slightly at the tips. Her cheeks remained delicately pink although her subtle lipstick has long since waned. Her face was washed out but intact. Her hair, on the other hand, was a different matter. The strands had been forcibly removed from their bonds, whether on purpose or in the chaos she didn't know. The magical hairspray had diminished and reset itself, leaving it looking irreparably wild and tangled, so she tried her best to pat it down and tuck it behind her ears. She didn't know what was coming, but if she could ensure one less humiliation, she would do just that.

She'd been at a gala held in honour of the Order of the Phoenix to celebrate their role in Voldemort's defeat. She was on the honours list and was set to receive Order of Merlin, 1st Class, along with her two best friends, Harry and Ron. She was immensely proud of them and their achievements. This night was to mark the rise of the light and a new beginning for them all.

Something had gone wrong.

The festivities had barely started when they were ambushed. Everything had happened so quickly that Hermione had barely registered the stupify spell coming her way. It was smart tactic, taking her out early to rid the group of her famous defensive skills. She'd woken up here, groggy from the sleeping potion issued after the short round of 'roughing up' from the group of 'friendly' Death Eaters who no doubt viewed it as nothing more than a light dalliance to pass the time between raids.

A fizzing and a clicking alerted her to the impending presence of another. She cursed silently. Not yet fully compos mentis, she didn't feel equipped to navigate this situation so quickly. From a brief training session with the Order many months ago, before the end of the war, Hermione remembered that in captive situations, it was imperative to establish favorable roles within the relationship from the outset, lest risk becoming set in an inexpedient dynamic for the duration.

She stood defiantly and turned towards the doorless wall where she could detect the presence of charms being countered, presumably to let her new friend into the room. If she felt out of sync from the effects of a sleeping draught, it was nothing compared to the shock she felt when she laid eyes upon the man who entered through the bricks. Sneering as he took up a dominant stance, the man said nothing as he allowed Hermione to jerk her sluggish mind into action. His greasy, black hair fell limp at his face, which was covered with the remnants of a nasty battle. His stoney eyes scanned over the small figure in front of him as his lips curled further down at the corners. He regarded her like this for a moment, something close to revulsion etched on his features, before finally he spoke.

"You will," Snape purred, taking a step forward "do as I say."

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**More to come.**


	2. Not a Nice Man

**Hello and thank you for your reviews. Chapter two again is short but after the introductions, the subsequent chapters will be more lengthy. This will mean updates may take a little while though, so thank you for your patience. Without further ado, here is chapter two! Once again thank you to DraconisMalfoy14 for casting a careful eye over my writing.**

**I own nothing.**

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Hermione's mouth fell open and she stood frozen on the spot, trying to gauge the situation. He was using his teacher voice, one she recognized from years of listening to him in the dank Hogwarts dungeons; had he come to save her? His ominous sneer said otherwise, but then again he was never the type of fellow to wear anything positive upon his face. The expression he presented now wasn't one that brought her any comfort, and a shiver ran down her spine as she considered the possibility that the Order's double agent wasn't who they thought he was.

It had long since been revealed that Snape had acted as a spy for the dark side, and Hermione had always had trouble in trying to ascertain just how Dumbledore could have been sure whose side he was truly on, given that he was openly feeding the exact same story to the Dark Lord himself.

Suddenly, Hermione felt very, very vulnerable. She grabbed at the tattered dress she wore and tried to wrap her arms around herself. She peeked timidly up through her eyelashes as she waited for him to give her a sign, to reveal his intentions. She didn't have to wait long. With one swift blow, the back of his large hand made contact with the soft flesh of her cheek and she tumbled to the floor. He had yet to say another word as he bent down and took hold of her face, fingers biting into her and paving the way for black, painful bruises in their wake. Despite herself, even in her precarious position, a small part of her felt smug about the accuracy of her original instincts. Snape was a treacherous bastard.

"Miss Granger," he said in a whisper, his face so close to hers that his large, hooked nose was brushing against her, "I would never have imagined that the brains of the golden trio would be the one to get herself caught first. By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish I'd allowed you to perish down here."

Hermione gave a whimper and, though she tried in vain to school her emotions, a tear escaped her and died on her chin. "That," Snape hissed, pulling her cheeks together tighter still, "is a fantastic way to bore me, Miss Granger. You will learn quickly that I am neither a nice, nor a patient man. Tears will get you nowhere with me, so I suggest you conserve your efforts."

With that, Hermione felt the familiar sickening contractions of disapparation.

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**Thank you for reading. Now to chapter three...**


	3. Please me

**Thank you for reading and reviewing, it is much appreciated. **

**Here we have chapter three; as we get more into the story, the lengths are growing along with the scale of events. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Normal warnings apply: I own nothing. violence ahead.**

**Once again thanks to DraconisMalfoy14 for working magic on my sloppy typing.**

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Hermione was locked in a windowless room. For how long she did not know. The lack of zeitgebers or external interaction was doing a great job of keeping her guessing. The entire room was encased in a grey stone, and it changed the somewhat pleasant temperature to a dank chill. There was a simple wooden bed with a mattress, a blanket, and a pillow in the corner, and a matching wooden table towards the centre of the south wall. A glass of water and a small plate of bread and pork sat upon the table. In the beginning, Hermione was careful with her rations, not knowing when they would be replaced, but she soon learned that upon draining the liquid or completing the meagre meal, the plate and glass would automatically be replenished. She had used meals as an indicator of time passed, but eventually she realised she was eating solely out of boredom, so this could not be counted upon as an accurate method.

She felt as though many days were passing in the outside world as she sat in the monotonous space. She was left to contemplate events, left to become ever more angry at Snape's betrayal, and, most of all, left to grow ever more fearful of his intentions. He had not spoken to her since they had apparated to this room. Upon landing, he had simply released her and disappeared again. She had not seen him since. Her rational side had lead her to the conclusion that he was either busy or trying to frighten her. Her emotional side, which had become increasingly anxious with the passing hours, reasoned that he had indeed deserted her there to die.

She spent much of her time thinking of Harry and Ron. With no way of knowing what had become of them since her capture, Hermione tried to imagine them, along with the other surviving members of the Order, valiantly pushing forward with their mission, spurred on by her disappearance rather that hindered by it. She sat on the floor in the corner, arms clutched around her thinning knees and chin resting upon them. She tried to black out the persistent logic that she has once relied too heavily on. Hermione had new knowledge. She saw now how naive and silly they had been to think that three seventeen year olds could take on the Dark Lord and triumph. Chosen one or not, they had grossly underestimated Voldemort's power and influence. They had survived for so long on confidence and sheer dumb luck, but now she had been captured, and her companions were sure to follow. She kicked herself mentally for allowing herself to become so complacent with her life. She had never stopped to question how the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen could have been defeated so easily, and now she knew why. He hadn't been beaten at all, merely employing dirty tricks to gain an advantage before delivering his final, fatal blow. Harry Potter was target No1. Without him the Light would fall and darkness would descend over the wizarding world, condemning the weak and the muggle borns to a life of misery at worst, a quick death at best.

During her time in solitude, her anger, rather than ebbing, grew more fierce. She scolded herself for the fact that she had yet to say a word to the man she had once held in the highest respect. He was now likely under the impression that she would be easy. Docile and ready to accept her fate. It pained her to imagine that he might have the idea that beneath the surface of her intellect, she was, in fact, weak. She bitterly regretted her earlier foolish tear, and resolved it would not happen again if she could help it.

Hermione Granger was a lot of things, but she was not weak. She had already fought in one wizarding war and suffered at the hands of those who considered her a second class citizen because of her blood. Yes, she had always been safe in the company of the Golden Trio, as they had been called, but she knew how to stand on her own two feet as well. Perhaps a well-earned kick between the legs would remind Snape of that should he ever decide to make an appearance. It would do nothing to help her escape and would possibly impede her cause in the long run, but if Severus Snape was testing her, she was going to show him all she had.

She was snoozing best she could when she heard sounds of activity beyond the walls. Quickly shaking off her slumber, she stood just in time to see the heavy wooden door swing open and the tall, dark figure of her ex-professor step over the threshold.

He stood in the centre of the room and didn't pause to regard her.

"On your knees, girl." he barked.

_Git. fucking haughty weasel of a man. _

She remained standing, willing herself to stick to her earlier resolve. Much more confidently then she felt, she let out a firm "No."

He didn't react. He simply remained in his position, appraising her and waiting to see what she would do next. She took the opportunity gladly. Feeling a little more confident, she took a step forward.

"I don't know who you think you are, Snape," she spat his name, "or what you think is going to happen here, but I assure you-"

"Crucio!"

First, she fell to her knees, but then the remainder of her body made contact with the floor as the waves of contorting agony took her. She could barely hear her own tortured screams over the buzzing in her ears as reality began to collapse around her writhing form. It was a long time before he let the curse end. By the time the pain receded, Hermione was a quivering, crumpled pile at his booted feet.

"On your knees, girl." he repeated.

Another round of the cruciatus curse would surely give her a heart attack, or so she felt. Though she wanted to be strong, without her wand and with no other way to defend herself, she had little choice. No human could withstand the curse for long, it was illegal for a very good reason. Even the most noble of gods would destroy worlds to escape its strangling hold, and Hermione was just a girl. Defeated for the moment, Hermione mustered all of her strength and complied. She was shocked that she was even able to move, but fear of the curse easily coaxed her aching limbs into action.

And so there she was. Kneeling at the feet of a sinister man. Completely at his command.

She could feel his satisfied grin, though she could not see it. His sheer elation at her yielding echoed silently through the room. Finally, Griffindor's princess was where she belonged, at the mercy of her superiors.

"You're lucky to be alive, mudblood. There aren't many of your kind who don't find themselves on the wrong end of an Avada Kedavra these days."

She stared resolutely at a crack in the ground.

"Furthermore, you might like to count yourself fortunate that it was my hands you fell into and not those of Lucius Malfoy." He paused dramatically. _Always the fucking theatrics._ "Though he may well pop in for a visit at some point." he said, amusement colouring his tone.

The crack was long, it spread through several of the stone tiles, as if there had been a gravity related accident there at some point.

"Are you listening to me?" he demanded. Her head shot up and she looked directly into his dead, black eyes. He took this as affirmative and continued. "Pay careful attention, Granger, I shall only say this once. If you are to survive, you will follow my words without question. You will obey. Attempts at mutiny will not be tolerated. Please me, and your life will be marginally easier. Defy me," he paused one again and emphasised each word, "and you will suffer. Am I clear?"

What could she do? Surely he'd be aware that she wouldn't submit so easily. This was the start of a long journey, she could feel it. When she nodded in response, they both knew it was a lie. He knew she would try to escape at the first opportunity. She knew with absolute certainty that he was eagerly awaiting the punishments that would ensue.

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**Thanks for reading. Please do stick around for chapter four.**


	4. Cult of Potter

**Hello Potter lovers. My apologies for the delay in publishing, but never fear! There are another four chapters typed up that just need editing so hopefully I'll be updating with a little more frequency. I really encourage you to submit reviews, not so I can feed my ego but so I can learn and grow. Constrictive criticism is welcomed with open arms, along with any suggestions. **

**Please excuse my sloppy typing, I was never a great editor.**

**Here we go!**

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For the second time his answering grin came at her, though this time she could see it. It did not, she noticed, reach his eyes.

"Stand." he said simply.

She stood.

His eyes trailed from her head to her toes, anticipating any form of rebellion he could punish. When she didn't move he spoke again.

"Follow me and keep your mouth shut."

He turned, robes flailing around him, and disappeared the way he had come. Hermione was struggling to stay upright but did as she was told. It was a matter of having to bide her time and keep herself out of harms way until she could come up with a workable solution. For now, she would play along.

At his heels, she wound through countless corridors, each as grey and cold as the room she had come from. The was no light, not even a lumos from his wand and so she had to rely on the clicking of his shoes to guide her. More than once the irrational part of herself wanted to reach out and grab the black robes in front of her, just to keep her footing and her bearings.

More than once she stumbled but when she did, he didn't acknowledge it. He walked in foreboding silence and though this was not unlike him, her fear began to grow at what awaited her at the end of their journey. She had long wished to leave her prison, but now she craved it's safety.

More narrow passages and more anonymous doors they passed until eventually the turned a corner and came to a simple wooden staircase. It was illuminated by a single torch which allowed the pair to navigate the steps successfully. They ascended into a large and grand entrance hall. Grey again. Everything in this house was so grey. Even the tell tale Slytherin green accents here and there did nothing to warm it's chill.

A thought occurred to her then, and because she was still dazed at the change in situation, it was vocalised immediately.

"This isn't _your_ house?"

It slipped out before she could remind herself of her predicament and she momentarily stopped still as she expected him to turn and scold her. When again he simply ignored her surprised outburst and continued his determined stride, she was forced into a half run to catch up with him.

Hermione did think about slipping away into one of the many rooms in this vast place to earn her time to come up with a plan, but it was a plainly silly idea. Juvenile even. She'd be caught in a heartbeat and it was stupid to give him an excuse to hurt her so early on.

She resolved she had guessed correctly about the residence. Any wizard who was afforded of this type of abode had no place earning a meagre teachers salary at Hogwarts.

It wasn't long before she was proved right as they entered what she supposed to be the main receiving room. She stood timidly behind Snape, almost as if he were her protecter, as she dared to peer around his person quickly at the people who had now turned to face him.

Seated, was Narcissa Malfoy. She looked exhausted. Her hair was pinned back, though not with it's usual precision. Her face was devoid of colour and she appeared as though she had aged ten years. Hermione caught her eye for a moment, but the older witch quickly took interest in the carpet; at which she stared resolutely.

Standing, was Lord Voldermort, Lucius Malfoy and two well-presented Death Eaters that Hermione didn't recognise.

"Ah, Severus. Back from your trip already?" Voldemort spoke with false affection, completely ignoring the presence of Hermione. Her level of importance confirmed. He stood, looking taller than Hermione remembered, and was dressed from head to toe in black, the contrast with his chalky skin making him appear all the more striking.

"Yes, my lord," Said Snape, bending to kiss his master's outstretched hand. "It took less time than I anticipated to persuade the French President. The man is a power-mad imbecile, I'd imagine it only too easy to manipulate his fragile little government to your will."

"Yes, yes, excellent work Severus. I believe Rowle is making substantial progress across the Atlantic, as is Krakaroff in his native country. The others are lagging a little, but not to worry. After all, I am nothing if not a patient man."

His small joke drew quiet, false laughs from the Death Eaters and Lucius who, unlike his wife, seemed to be basking in the honour of having his master grace his home. He had clearly done something spectacular to be back in the Dark Lord's inner circle and was emitting more arrogance than Hermione had ever seen from him before.

"It shan't be long until I can reward my most loyal followers with their own realms to oversee." He looked at Severus with an expression that promised power beyond the man's wildest dreams. "Until that time, I do hope they will make do with smaller tokens of my appreciation."

At these words, Voldemort's gaze finally shifted to Hermione who was observing the situation with horrified interest.

"Miss Granger," He hissed in sickly sweet tones. "How rude of me. My greetings."

Voldemort sneered, his serpent features contorting into a mask of triumph.

"And my commiserations," he continued, "you fought valiantly my girl, but alas, there are some battles even the cult of Harry Potter is destined to loose."

All eyes were now on Hermione, following Voldermort's lead, but quickly he appeared bored with gloating and he turned to converse quietly with the two anonymous men.

Though she wanted to ask of the others, to enquire into the fates of Harry, Ron, Ginny and the rest of her loved ones, the Dark Lord's apparent global victory told her that Harry at least was dead, and she didn't hold out much hope for the others who would all be considered blood traitors.

And so she kept her mouth shut.

"Really Severus, a mudblood? You had prime choosing of the entire spoil and you opt to sully yourself with this filth?" Lucius Malfoy took his turn to speak now that the Dark Lord was otherwise occupied. He remained seated, his knees apart and his hand on his cane.

"I expect your decision was in better taste Lucius?" Severus sounded utterly uninterested as he usually did when it came to social interactions, but there was a heavy air of sarcasm in his retort.

"Naturally, I have no need of such boons." He said, inclining his head towards his wife, though he looked positively livid. "I am perfectly happy to serve my master with no expectation of reward. To see him succeed in his endeavours is compensation enough."

Malfoy's blatant arse kissing was laughable and Hermione might have done so had she not thought it would earn her swift retribution from any one of the six wand armed witches and wizards in the room.

"Naturally." Snape echoed. Hermione imagined a gloating smile forming on his face. She found it difficult to tell if the men were actually arguing, or if this was the type of exchange they regularly had as friends. She knew they were close. The men's back and fourth was interrupted by a feminine interjection.

"Will you be staying for dinner Severus?" Narcissa finally spoke, but as she did her voice faltered and it was clearly a great effort for her to do so.

"Thank you Narcissa, but I really must be on my way," He waved half-heatedly behind himself, "I have business to attend to."

The worn looking witch nodded her understanding. "Well then, if you'll excuse me," she gesticulated toward the door. "I ought to... I mean I need to prepare for... dinner. Good night Severus." She stood, bowed to her master and quietly made her way out of the room. Her excuses were vague and it was clear she simply couldn't handle the stress of remaining in that room any longer. Nobody paid her any heed as she left.

"Ah yes," Lucius said. "I must say I have found it rather tiresome this past week to find myself in charge of baby-sitting your little whore while you were away on your French folly."

Her attention was reverted from divining Narcissa's true standpoint on Voldemort's victory, to the woman's haughty, conceded husband. He was spitting his distaste as he discussed her as if she were not in the room. Heat in the back of Hermione's head was rising, prickling in anger. If she wasn't being slapped, patronised or called a mudblood, she was being called a whore.

She wanted nothing more than to slap the pretentious bastards around the face, any one of them would do. She was still however, aching from the cruciatus curse and that was enough to retain her head. Careful to keep her temper, she continued to stand in silence.

"I'm sure you enjoyed it more than you're admitting Lucius," Severus said, speaking freely now that Narcissa was out of earshot.

"Lucius knows how to keep his hands away from what is not his." Voldemort had seemingly finished his business with the two other men and was now silently making his way to the centre of the room to stand between Malfoy and Snape. "My most faithful servant receives his prize pure." he bowed his head as he finished his second sentence, as if bestowing a rare and magnificent privilege.

Snape bowed his head fully in return. "Thank you master, you are most kind.

"Take your leave Severus. I have no need of you for the moment. I shall call for you when the time comes."

"Thank you, my lord." he bowed again and ushered Hermione out of the room. He grabbed her by the wrist and held onto it tightly. Once again they disapparated.

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**Just an interesting note I picked up to whilst writing this section: Originally, this chapter contained the phrase 'damp squib'. Eventually it was removed because I wasn't sure how widely the phrase is used outside of the UK and I didn't want to cause any confusion with the wizarding term for a person with magical blood but no powers. It was interesting to note the etymology in the HP universe though, and it's possible to see J.K's thought process when inventing the term. If you're not familiar, something referred to as a damp squib usually appears to be something promising, but eventually comes to nothing.**

**Chapter five is complete and is currently being tweaked. Should be with you shortly.**


	5. Brooding Time

**Hello readers,**

**Chapter 5 for your viewing pleasure.**

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Hermione found herself in a space not unlike the common rooms at Hogwarts, though significantly smaller. The walls were bare stone, but rather than radiating a harsh coldness like those at Malfoy manor, their warm hues combined with the enthusiastic fire in the centre gave the place a cosy feel. Adorning the walls were countless old paintings, freying diagrams and mismatched furniture; the most imposing of which was the eclectic collection of large book cases, each housing a myriad of dusty tomes. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to reach out and sniff their yellowing pages, craving the comfort she found from immersing herself in reading. There would be no refuge for her amongst the words today though.

Unsure of what to do, she hovered near the corner as her once professor busied himself at his decanters. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. It felt correct to try and make a run for it at this point, otherwise she would feel as though she were being defeatist, but again she knew the futility of such actions, even though she knew any attempt she might make would simply serve the purpose of reaffirming her adversity to the situation rather than being a bone fide endeavour for freedom.

She tried again.

"What of Harry Potter?" she choked out. She had never feared Snape as such. She always held a healthy respect for the man, but the events of today had taught her caution at least. The true fear was likely to come later.

"Dead." he replied curtly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was now seated in a large, squishy looking chair by the fire. Hermione had never seen such a sight. The absurdity of seeing the stern man in such a homely position was faintly amusing. She couldn't fathom him owing anything but harsh, angular objects, fitting of his personality.

The word hit her like a fist to the stomach and she was momentarily winded. She had expected it, but to have it confirmed was still shockingly painful. Someone less observant than Snape would have missed the agony flitting across her face for a split second before she composed herself. She wouldn't let news of her friend's death affect her now. She wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction. Though she wanted to cry and scream and roll around on the floor, she mustered her Gryffindor courage and placed her emotions neatly in a box and stored it away to open again at a time where she could grieve in peace. She took his tired indifference to her question and ran with it.

"And the oth…"

"All dead, Miss Granger," he snapped. his irritation with her was rising fast. "Every single one of them are dead. You're the only one left. Would you like to keep it that way?"

It wasn't a question, but she didn't have the capacity to register the threat because a hole was growing in her stomach, and another in her chest. She had assumed at least _someone _had survived. The idea that a pocket of resistance remained had been her main safety net through her ordeal and the revelation that it didn't exist filled her with a sense of helpless dread. Suddenly her confidence of triumphing was significantly diminished. And then, like a double whammy it hit her. She had no-one. Her parents had perished in the first round of the war. The Order was the only family she had, and they were gone. Harry, Ginny, Molly… Ron. Her beloved Ron. It took a few seconds but eventually, the girl sank to her knees as her eyes unfocused and her head lulled. She vaguely registered thinking it was strange that no tears had come. More holes appeared, her arms, her legs, her face, despair eating her up like a parasite.

She wasn't certain how long she spent in her own mind, but when she came back to reality she was once again staring at the black booted feet of Severus Snape.

"If you're quite finished with the theatrics?"

That did it for her. The witches temperament changed in an instant, her head snapped up, pure rage contorting her features. Shocking herself, she let on an unbridled scream that curdled her own blood, her wild emotions leaving her with urgency. Theatrics? _Theatrics!? _She was on her feet in one swift movement and, bypassing a feminine open palm, curled her hand into a tight fist which she aimed at the man's already crooked nose. Her anger overriding her earlier plans of playing along.

She found his large hand in an iron grip around her wrist before it could make contact with the soft flesh of his face. Baring his teeth to her, he bent her arm back on itself, earning a sickening crack and sending her once again to her knees. The sobs that escaped her now were cries of agony rather than anger.

"Stupid girl!" He barked as he let go of her mis-shapen appendage. "I have no patience for your insolence tonight."

He reached around to the back of her head and latched on to a handful of her still-wild curls which he used to pull her roughly to her feet. She gave a pained cry as the movement jostled her tender arm, and another as the momentum of him pulling her into a stride disturbed it yet again. The cunt of a man was _dragging _her by her hair like an animal. Out of the room he ambled, into a hallway and down a narrow corridor. He allowed her no time to appraise the new surroundings and it all passed in the blur of her watery eyes.

At last he stopped in front of a battered old door which he flung open. Still tugging at her sensitive scalp, he forced her inside were she fell onto the ground with an ungraceful thud. "I'll deal with you in the morning." he said before stepping out backwards and pulling the door closed, his angry black eyes burning into her all the while. She heard his faint mutterings which she knew to be wards, and then he was gone.

What _Happened?_ Earlier he was positively euphoric at the idea of punishing her and now after she had given him the perfect excuse he simply locked her away. So her could what? _Brood_ in peace?

She gave the thought no further attention, instead opting to take advantage of the opportunity he had given her for privacy.

She hoped the wards included silencing charms, she didn't want him to hear the howls coming from her mouth as she allowed herself to absorb the knowledge that everyone she loved was dead, and that she was alone.

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**I'm currently in the market for a beta reader. If you read chapter four, you'll have noticed I'm a babbling, stubby fingered monkey without someone to edit my drawls. If you're interested, please send me a PM with your availability. I have about four chapters backed up and four and five could to with a once over too :)**

**As always, suggestions and constructive criticism welcome. I'm trying to develop my fiction writing abilities so I do actively encourage you to pull me on mistakes.**


	6. Cuntgate

**Good afternoon readers. A fairly quick update from me this week. I'd like to remind you I'm still looking for a beta reader, I'm aware my work is littered with mistakes. On to chapter 6. We see a little more interaction in this section and get a better idea of how the relationship will progress. Let me know how you like it.**

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At some point during the night, Hermione managed to cry herself to sleep on the spot where she had first landed. She had never bothered to observe the room she was trapped in, let alone crawl onto the musky smelling bed that resided there. She was dreaming of something, she couldn't remember what, but her body on red alert had woken her suddenly as if it were afraid if she spent anymore time resting, she would be vulnerable to attack. It was likely right.

Something told her it was very early in the morning, probably before 5. She had perhaps had three hours sleep at the most. Her body ached from sleeping on the hard floor and the physical trauma she had endured yesterday. Her head ached from the burden of her tears and the mental exhaustion she felt. She sat up and a sharp protest in her arm reminded her that Snape hadn't done her the courtesy of healing her shattered bone before leaving her, and she marvelled at the fact she had managed to sleep at all, let alone avoid injuring it further. She carefully cradled her arm to her chest and stiffly rose, making her way to a second door in the room, which she assumed correctly to be a bathroom.

She took some solace in the warm water as is cascaded over her naked body. She imagined it washing away her pain, cleansing her body of the terrible things it had been subjected too and she was almost able to loose herself in the sanctuary of the shower. She stayed much longer than nessicary and soon found goosbumps on her pearly white skin as she grew cold. Tenitivley, she stepped out of the cubicle and reached for a towel which looked and smelled like it had been there for some time.

Remaining cautious of her injury, she dried herself off as quickly as she could and redressed in her dirty party clothes. She took her knickers to the sink, washed them with hand soap and placed them on the edge of the bowl to dry. She then hurried into the next room and huddled under the scratchy blanket on the bed, willing her body to heat up. It was then that she realised she was ravenous. It was probably 24 hours since her last meal and her stomach had begun to growl in protest.

That for now at least would have to wait. What could she do? Saunter downstairs and ask if there was any gnosh going? She'd be lucky if the bastard didn't ring her neck after her little performance last night, so to be hopeful of receiving sustainance was perhaps a smidge ambitious.

She heard footsteps in the hall and lept from the bed into a defensive position, her back against the wall. It can't have been later than six, but then, she always imagined the Snape to be an early riser. He was a rigid sort of fellow, and the idea that he adhered to strict routines seemed appropriate. Muttered spells from the other side drifted through the door and soon it was open.

The pair stood appraising each other for a few long seconds, Snape eyeing her wet her and obviously not approving of her liberties.

"You look disgusting." he drawled. He took his wand from his sleeve and pointed it right at her chest. She braced for another curse but let out a sigh of relief as her tattered attire transformed into simple, practical and most importantly clean grey jersey dress that hung beneath her knees and covered her arms to the elbows.

"You are to be decent and presentable at all times, is that clear?"

_What, no retribution? _Surely he wasn't going to let it go that easily. Perhaps she had misjudged the situation. It was possible he wasn't as masachistic as she imagined and simply felt more at ease displaying his famous temper now there was no Dumbledore to keep him in line?

"Answer me!" he barked.

_Stick to the plan. Make him trust you._

"Yes sir." she replied. Maybe the sir was a little to much but it seemed to placate him.

"You will ask my permission before helping yourself to my facilities."

_He wanted her to ask every time she needed a shower? That would get old very quickly._

_"_Yes sir." She repeated.

Hermione's emotions were once again locked in a chest in her mind. She would open it on occasion to bask in her grief and then lock it away again. For the most part she resolved to stay strong in front of her captor. Her Grffyndor courage would be required to get her through some tough times if she was to survive and to come through the other side. Escape was all she thought of as she played the man's game. Yes, she would do what he asked, she would behave and she would let him think she'd won; then, when he least expected it, she would make her move.

He sneered, suspicious of her submission, internally vowing to find out exactly what she was up to. Did she think him a fool? Of course she was formulating some sort of plan and he would beat it out of her if he had to.

"Come with me," he turned, leaving the room before adding: "and keep your hands to yourself."

She followed him down the stairs, through the room where she had attempted to punch him and into a small, cluttered kitchen. It wasn't dirty, but one could hardly call it gleaming. She watched as he casually took a seat behind the rectangular stone table and retrieved a copy of the Daily Prophet from god knows where.

Again she was unsure of what she was supposed to do, so she hovered. There was a tea pot on the side that looked as though it had recently been used and an array of dishes in the sink as if someone had recently eaten a meal there. Hermione's stomach once again growled, loud enough, she was sure, for Snape to hear. If he did, he didn't acknowledge it.

She stood here awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot before she approached the sink and busied herself with cleaning the dishes. At least taking up the menial task might keep her from carrying out any rash decisions like making a bid for his testicles. Plus, it had the added bonus of buttering him up. The task was taking longer than it should have because she was forced to complete it one handed. She was halfway through before she wondered if this would count as 'helping herself to his facilities. Considering he'd yet to stop her, she assumed it was safe to continue.

It was another few minutes before he broke the silence.

"I like your style Miss Granger."

The saucer she was holding slipped from her grasp and fell back in to the water with a soft splash. She turned and regarded him, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

"I must say, I had anticipated that it would take a fair bit more work on my part before I had you walking around my home without any underwear."

_Shit._

Cheeks reddening with burning shame, Hermione looked at the floor and began to open and close her mouth as she tried to come up with a response. She was incredibly flustered, she had forgotten about her soaking delicates amidst the relief she felt from escaping a curse from Snape in the bedroom. There she was standing knickerless in her professor's kitchen and he _knew._

Another thought occurred to her then, a very, very dark one.

_He wouldn't would he? Sureley not?_

Echos of yesterday's conversion in Malfoy manner presented themselves and turned Hermione's blood to ice.

_"Surely you enjoyed it more than you're admitting lucius"_

_"Baby-sitting your little whore"_

_"Receives his prize pure"_

The pieces knitted together and suddenly his game took on a whole new meaning.

"Don't you dare." she said firmly.

He was grinning, but it wasn't a gleeful grin, it was sinister. Moreso than she'd ever seen him if that were even possible. He rose slowly, deliberately, and took his time crossing the room to the girl he towered above. Almost tenderly, he reached up and wrapped his strong fingers around her jaw. He pulled his face into hers and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. Every instinct she had was telling her to move, to fight, but she remained frozen in fear.

When he spoke, it was little more than a whisper.

"What did I say earlier about decency Miss Granger? Only whores and prostitiutes walk around with their cunts exposed."

The wrongness of hearing him use he word 'cunt' was incredible. She shrank from his grip but he pulled his fingers tighter around her face.

"Are you a slut Miss Granger?"

She shook her head as vigorously as his hold on her would allow. Her heart was hammering in her chest and subconsciously her thighs squeezed together defensively. He was still perilously close and his proximity was all the more unnerving given the change in conversation.

"Then I suggest you stop acting like one, lest I am left the wrong impression."

She nodded, attempting to use the motion to free herself, but his body was a dead weight and it had shifted to pin her against the counter. Wetness was pooling in her eyes, half from fear and half from the shame of being caught out. Innocent or not, the idea that Snape knew she'd willingly removed her underwear in his presence was too much to bear.

"Up the stairs and in the top drawer. Do not let me catch you imitating a harlot again."

He released his grip on her face and took a step back. She attempted to run past him but he caught her by her good arm and spun her around.

"There is still the matter of pushishment for your indiscretion last night, don't think I've forgotten girl."

He let go once again and she darted from the room, tears streaming down her face.

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**There we have it.**

**I'm currently busy writing more chapters, however, I'd like to announce that I have another project in progress featuring a Scabior/Hermione pairing. My second favourite ship. I'll let you know when it's ready to publish. Rx**


	7. Daylight in the Dark

**Hello readers.**

**I want to thank you for all of the wonderful reviews you've been leaving. It really serves to encourage my nimble fingers..**

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Four days she hid in that room. She couldn't stomach the thought of facing him, especially since he had yet to make good on his promise of punishment. During her self-imposed time in solitude, she was grateful for being ignored for the most part. Now and then, she would hear movement outside the door and would always find a tray of food left behind. He was feeding her at least.

One time, she found a vial of murky orange liquid accompanying her meal. Naturally suspicious of the contents she simply ignored it and left it with her empty plate outside the door. Upon his return, Snape had stormed angrily into the room and threatened her heartily before popping the cap and pouring the burning liquid down her throat himself. She had spluttered, coughed and cried but she couldn't help but swallow the nasty stuff. She was instantly relieved though, when the bones in her arm knitted painfully back into place, replacing the dull throb with a magnificent normality. He left her again after that and didn't return except to replace her food. It was the one and only time he spoke to her following cunt-gate, and it suited her just fine.

The decision had been taken for action. _Screw the plan. _After her close encounter, she didn't want to lose anymore time playing house and she resolved to find a way out of his hovel for good.

And so, she bode her time. She took to listening intently at the door for hours on end. Each time she heard him approach she would scuttle back, fearing he might enter and catch her in the act. But he never did, and after he left she would retrieve the tray and go back to listening, her ear pressed eagerly against the wood hoping to catch a sign. She was waiting for the tell-tale crack to inform her he had disapparated. She needed some snooping time to navigate the house and determine it's weaknesses. All she required was a small fault she could exploit and she'd be out of there.

Listening a the door like this served a duel pruporse; She was also trying go gather news from the outside. Often, she would hear unfamiliar voices coming and going, and she strained for snippets of conversation that might tell her what was happening back in the real world. Unfortunatley for her, initial greetings in the hall were soon silenced by the living room door as it closed behind Snape and his guests. Likely it held a silencing charm to prevent her being nosey.

When she grew bored or achey from her position crouched at the door, she spent her time fantasising about what she would do when she did get out. Step one: acquire a wand. Step two: come back and hex the letch into oblivion. She had lots of fun cataloguing fancy and obscure ways to make him suffer. This was a great distraction technique she used whenever she felt he tug in her chest as thoughts of her fallen friends seeped into her mind. Perhaps she could use some of those methods to avenge the deaths of her comrades too.

It was late on the fourth day when her moment finally arrived. She was starting to feel the familiar dull throb in her neck that usually signalled her bed time when a throng of voices downstairs snapped her to attention immediately. It sounded as though a heated discussion was taking place between at lest four or five men. She could hear Snape's baritone amongst them. Whatever had happened must have been bad because he hadn't bothered to usher them out of her earshot. It was difficult to make out clear sentences but she caught bits of speech here and there.

"Right pissed off he is..."

"Heads rolling..."

"Not my problem..."

"Elementry mistakes…"

From the ill concealed anxiety in the men's tones it sounded as though something had happened to anger the Dark Lord and these men seemed to be pleading with Snape to salvage the situation, to attempt to placate Voldemort somehow. He certainly did not sound enthralled with the idea, but Hermione got the impression that Snape was somehow in their debt and that he was obliged to interviene.

The voices eventually died to a drawl as it appeared Snape had agreed to accompany the them. It wasn't long until the sounds of six men dissaparating reverberated through the small building, sending vibrations through the floorboards on which hermione knelt. This was it.

Tenativley, she stood and slowly turned the antique brass knob on her door. It wasn't locked to her slight surprise, though it has never been before when she had moved the food tray in and out.

Placing a soft step over the threshold, she paused and flinched when it emitted a loud creak. It had never done that when he had come to her door, likely he knew it well and thus was able to avoid it. She waited until she was satisfied no one had heard her and that the house was indeed empty, before continuing with stealth down the landing and descending the stairs into the dark hallway.

The first logical task was to try the front door. She didn't hold much conviction it would be unlocked, but it would be foolish not to try the most obvious solution to her problem first. Planting her feet firmly on the floor in front of the door, she reached out to the handle with her now healed right arm. Her finger tips came within a few millimetres of the metal and she felt no magical resistance. She quickly closed the gap and wrapped her fingers around the handle giving it a sturdy shake and willing it to move. When it did not, she removed her hand and petulantly sighed in frustration. She dropped her arm to her side and made to turn around. Preparing to enter the sitting room, a slight tingle travelling through the right side of her body caused her to look down to inspect the spot it was cumulating - the hand she had used to touch the door. She watched in horror as the pearly flesh became red and angry with weeping blisters. The tingling stopped and though her hand did not hurt, it was now covered in evidence of her escape attempt.

_Bollocks. _

She cursed out loud and tried to think. It was clearly a spell designed not to harm her, but to alert Snape if she tried to get through the door. She doubted she would be able to rid herself of it before he came home, it was highly unlikely a man as intelligent as her old potions master would leave any usable magical ingredients lying around for her to find. Even if she were that lucky, she wouldn't know where to start, she had never seen this jinx before. It looked like a variation of a classic boil erupting spell, but in all the times she'd encountered it, the resulting blotches were always horribly painful and they were never confined to a single point of contact like hers were.

Not sure how long Snape would be away, she didn't want to waste anymore time on something she couldn't control, and since the blisters were not causing her any discomfort she chose to ignore it and deal with the problem later. The door to the living room was still open and Snape hadn't botherd to put out the lamps before he left so she was able to take in the room properly for the first time. There was a medium sized window looking out onto a large daylight illuminated meadow packed with trees and featuring a trickling stream. Definitley enchanted.

She worked through the room, finding nothing that might work as a weapon, and definitely nothing that might aid her magically. She took notice of the many books lining the walls and made a mental note to come back and look for a cure for her hand if she was unsuccessful in her current quest. She realised then how careful Snape was. the room was immaculate, devoid of anything Hermione might be able to use to her advantage. Any copies of the Daily Prophet he read so religiously had been removed along with sharp objects, blunt objects and communication devices. The floo network was even disconnected from the fireplace. Hermione discovered this only when her attempt to use it resulted in yet more of the benign boils appearing, this time on her neck.

She was beginning to feel hopeless again, the house was excellently guarded. Her chances of finding a way out were low, however she reasoned that now was as good a time as any to try anything and everything in the hope of striking it lucky. Snape was going to know she'd tried to escape by the boils and so rather than endure two punishments, she'd be better to get it all over with in one go no matter how much it might deform her. She set to work, vowing to scour every nook and cranny of the place, starting with the enchanted window.

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**Chapter 8 is complete and in the editing stages. I found it extremely difficult to write for reasons that will become apparent when it's published. It took quite a while and as a result, I've used up all of my back logged work. I'll warn you now, it's not pretty.**

**Until the next time!**


	8. Lessons Learned

**WARNING. This is a black chapter. It contains non-con. It serves a purpose though, and I strongly believe that it acts as a useful catalyst for progression within the relationship between the two characters. Proceed with caution.**

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Snape apparated back to the house, exhausted and irritable. He had spent the best part of the night trying to mollify a petulant Voldemort. The Dark Lord had thrown an almighty tantrum having received news of a failed raid in Budapest, and had killed several Death Eaters who had done nothing more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Hungary isn't important my lord, not in the long run." Snape had reasoned.

It wasn't important, no. The smaller European countries meant little to nothing in the grand scheme of things, but this is what had made it all the more humiliating when Voldemort's forces were beaten back there. "It's a simple matter my lord, Slovakia, Romania and Croatia are already under our control. We'll simply send in re-enforcements from each side."

The Dark Lord was not easily pacified and it was past midnight when Severus finally arrived home.

Automatically, as he did each time entered, he raised this wand to check his wards. They had been tripped. His lip curled and a low sound resonated from deep within him. He took the stairs two at a time, knowing full well who the culprit was. Tonight's events had drained him and put him on edge, he was pent up with frustrations and fury and this was the ideal excuse to finally take some of it out on the Granger girl. He was going to enjoy this.

The bedroom door flung open, crashing loudly on the wall behind. Snape didn't pause outside like he might have done had he been feeling calmer, in his adrenaline fueled rampage he opted to replace subtle scare tactics with brute force. He'd had enough of playing mind games, it was time to establish some ground rules. He marched through the door, Death Eater robes billowing widely in his wake. In the corner, crouched a quivering pile of… something.

She had heard him tearing through the building, just as she'd predicted. She already knew she was in for a rough time, he'd made it perfectly clear he was willing use violence against her. She didn't look up to greet him when he entered, fear controlling her instincts. The protective wards around the house had been infitatley more than she could have imagined resulting angry red boils now covering every inch of her body, redering her unrecognisable. When the curse had run out of space to penetrate, each new disturbed ward had brought a new symptom. The sores had gone from painless, to itchy, to agonising. Her body was sticky from the weeping wounds and she could no longer move without whimpering in pain. She had been desperate for him to come back just on the off chance he might relieve her.

Never in a million years had he imagined she'd be so tenacious in her quest for freedom. He'd predicted to come home one day and find three, maybe four sets of boils upon a repentant Hermione. He was not above admitting, even if only to himself, that he had underestimated her…. stubborness. The fire that still burned brightly behind her eyes was going to take more than he'd anticipated to extinguish, and the thought excited him.

He ripped his wand from his cloak, pointed it at the girl and growled: "finite incantartem." The boils receded, as did the mess from the scabs and the pus, leaving Hermione's skin as flawless as it had been not four hours ago. She had no time to feel relief, for he was upon her immediately. He took hold of her delicate wrists and yanked her to her feet. She stumbled but was kept aloft within his iron grip. She winced in pain as she felt as though her bones would give way under the pressure, but he did not relent.

"You little bitch." he hissed. His fingers dug tighter still into her bruising flesh and Hermione collapsed her knees, hoping to fall to the floor. He yanked her up again and backed her to the wall, making sure her knees locked back into place. He moved his face in closer, his chest pressing against hers. She could smell fire whisky on his hitched breath as it rolled warmly over her. He was shaking her. Not deliberately, but the fury and the anticipation had sent his body vibrating beyond his control. He was so fully in his clutch that her body was forcibly moving as he did. "I've been too soft on you girl. It's time you learned your place." His breath was still laboured, it was heavy and erratic. She feared the man at this moment more than ever, not because he was threatening her, but because she had never seen him loose control before. She had no idea what he was capable of, not really. What if his religious need for strict regulation was a way of controlling Mr Jekyll?

She didn't know where it came from, survival instant perhaps at a pivotal moment, but a sudden surge of adrenaline and bravado masquerading as courage made a decision that was put into action before she could process it cognitively. Her eyes hardened and she brought them up to meet his.

"You're sick," she yelled into his face. "What do you want? Are you so desperate for power, or are you actually enjoying this?" She began to writhe and struggle with all her might, a renewed vigour taking hold. His full weight was upon her, holding steady as she thrashed in his grip. His lower half was pinning her legs to the wall so she couldn't use them for defence and his right hand slowly moved from her chin to curl around her neck. It wasn't hard enough to cut off her airway, but it was a show of strength. Should he choose to tighten his grip just a little, she'd be dead.

It was then she felt him. Pressed against her stomach, his swollen groin made it's presence known. Hermione's eyes widened and she stopped fighting instantly. Between shocked gasps and chokes she whispered "Please."

"Oh yes, much too soft." he cooed, his lips brushing her cheek as he did so.

"I'm sorry," she whispered desperatley, panic taking over. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me." All trace of defiance had disappeared, leaving nothing but a terrified young woman who knew full well she didn't stand a chance. She sunk back from him, though the wall would allow her to go no further.

Slowly, he closed the gap between their faces as his teeth, gently, almost tenderly, sunk into her quivering jaw. Hermione let out a cry of anguish at the unwelcome intrusion, and tried to turn her face away, all the while muttering desperate pleas, more to herself than anything.

She was yanked from the wall and tossed carelessly across the room and onto the bed face down. She pushed her arms against the bed in an effort to get up again, but he was upon her once more, a single hand between her shoulder blades, forcing her back down. His lips were at her ear and she felt the anticipation in the pace of his breath. He raked a hand down the left side of her body, caressing each contour and coming to rest on her thigh.

"Professer," she sobbed."Professer please."

"Shhhh." was his tender response as he leaned back and pulled the hem of her dress up, exposing her buttocks concealed in the fresh white underwear he had provided for her. He was no longer pushing her onto the bed, but she stayed still out of pure fear. Her body was heaving now, wretching in panic as she lay exposed.

A single finger tugged playfully at the waist band of the underwear, before the garment was unceremoniously torn from her body. Instead of attempting to move again, Hermione simply curled herself deeper into the blanket on the bed, grasping at it's scratchy surface and hoping it would swallow her up as she screamed silently into it. Her eyes screwed shut. Resigned.

He made no attempt at foreplay as he might had she been his lover. He had one goal in mind and held no interest in standing on ceremony. Silently, he freed himself and positioned at her entrance. He gave a single prod of warning and then entered.

The pain was like nothing she had ever felt before. A virgin, she was not. Ron had taken care of that, and though it was clumsy, it was gentle and in it's own way, beautiful. The splitting, searing agony of being taken dry combined with the humiliation of being violated in the worst way possible though, was something beyond anything she could have ever imagined. No pleasure came for her, but a warm pooling of blood at least slackened the event and made it ever so slightly more bearable.

He moved above her with his usual grace. Even in an act so grotesque he managed to remain suitably elegant in his movements. It was a short experience. Hermione was left with the distinct impression that Snape was finally realising an act he had fantasied about for sometime, and so was all to eager to partake, neglecting to stop and savour. Mercifully soon, he stilled, exhaled and poured himself into her. Without a word, he stood, allowing her limp, defeated body to fall to the floor .

She thought he would leave her then, as he had before when he bored of her. The one thought sustaining her tattered sanity was the honest-to-god belief that he would leave her alone when he was done.

He composed himself, and dressed. Instead of crossing for the door though, he bent down, crouching next to her and spoke softly.

"Put that intelect of yours to good use Miss Granger, and take heed of the lessons I'm teaching you."

He brushed the front of his index finger lighty over he wet cheek, sweeping down from her cheekbone to her jaw.

"We're even now. You've been punished for your indiscretions and I hope this will serve as a deterrent in the future."

With that he stood, walked to the door and turned back to face her again.

"You may use the bathroom to clean yourself up. I'd like you to be downstairs in fifteen minutes to prepare my tea. I don't wish to have to return for you. Fifteen minutes."

And he was gone.

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**Well, There we have it. This chapter took me weeks to write, it was a real challenge and I'm no where near happy with it. This, I think is the most difficult situation to articulate properly, and so I feel I've learned a little something in writing it which for me is what this whole endeavour is about. Please be gentle when reviewing this one, I'm a little fragile.**


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